


Where Willows Wail

by autchichi



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon Divergence, M/M, Rogue Inquisitor - Freeform, Slow Burn, very dalish inquisitor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-06-10 10:08:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15289197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autchichi/pseuds/autchichi
Summary: We lost eternity or the ruined tree of the PeopleTime won’t help when the land of dreams is no longer our journeyWe try to lead despite the eventual failing of our markings.To the inevitable and troubling freedom we are committed.When we could no longer believe, we lost glory to war.When the Wolf failed/won, we lost the People to war.---Aridhel, a Dalish elf, grew up among Clan Lavellan with two clear ideas: to help the People and be aware of the Dread Wolf's tricks. He prided himself in protecting his clan and allowing himself to go to the Conclave on behalf of his Keeper due to her growing suspicions of other beings at work.He did not expect himself to be thrust in the world of humans, violently placed at the center of mayhem and chaos. Clinging to his task of protecting his people, he finds himself drawn to the Elven apostate Solas, who claims to be neither Dalish nor having lived in the alienages. His rare knowledge of the Fade makes him aloof and easily ignored, but Aridhel cannot ignore the jawbone displayed prominently on his chest.





	1. The Dread Wolf Stalks

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, welcome to the first chapter of this fic! First and foremost, I would like to preface that I will be exploring two things I think Bioware could have fleshed out more: they should have made Solas bisexual in Inquisition and the Dalish Inquisitor should have been more Dalish. I have always thought that the relationship between Solas and Lavellan was extremely interesting though could have been more dimensional. Hence, why I want to write this story and explore that more deeply. I should go ahead and say I will be trying to limit as much of in-game dialogue and events as possible and will only go through certain scenes if I deem it extremely important. Otherwise, this story will diverge in some places from the canon story line of Inquisition.
> 
> I would also like to stress that while I know quite a bit of lore, I don't consider myself an expert. If you notice any mistakes or corrections, let me know!
> 
> Also, this fic is not beta read by anyone else. I try to make sure to edit through but I apologize if there are any mistakes.
> 
> Updates will not be on a regular schedule but I will try to stay consistent as much as possible.
> 
> Outside of that, enjoy the first chapter!

A bird sang a soulful tune somewhere deep in the forest. His pointed ear twitched, picking up the sound but his body remained still, breathing calm and shallow. His arm strained a bit as he held the nocked arrow back, ready to unleash and plunge into fur and flesh. The arrowhead lined up with the sleek body of a hare scavenging the forest floor a couple feet away, its ears occasionally twitching at the common rustling of the trees as they swayed.

“Aridhel!”

The arrow that loosened from his bow plunged into the bark of a tree, startling the hare. Ears twitching at the sound, the hare scampered off into the underbrush, disappearing from sight. Cursing under his breath and lowering his bow, Aridhel turned his head to regard whoever had broken his concentration.

Myriani stood at the base of the tree, staff in hand. She took a few steps back to catch his gaze where he sat on a branch high up. “Keeper wishes to see you. She said it’s important,” she explained, a small smirk curling the edges of her mouth.

Although the branches of Mythal framed her eyes and forehead, her expression held nothing but mischief. Aridhel raised an eyebrow. “And it was so important you had to tell me while I’m hunting?” he asked.

She laughed. “ _Ir abelas_. She said it was important, I’m merely the messenger.”

He rolled his eyes. “Of course.” Strapping his bow to his quiver, he climbed down a few branches before landing on the forest floor on his feet. “You’re her First, did she say what it was?” he asked as they began walking back to the clan.

The unusual silence that followed drew his gaze to her face. Her lips were pursed and upon feeling his gaze she looked at him. Her eyes had lost their mirth. “She wouldn’t tell me. Something about the meeting the shems are having but she wouldn’t tell me anything else.” Obviously the thought of the Keeper hiding something troubled her.

“She probably just wants me to pass on to the other hunters to be more cautious,” Aridhel told her, but he didn’t quite believe the words himself. “Nothing to worry about,  _lethallan_.”

Keeper Deshanna was always open to the clan, sharing tales alongside the hahrens and insight on other clans. She hid nothing neither to them nor the few humans they traded with in neighboring human towns. She understood the fears of the Dalish among the humans and approached with honesty and kindness to those that gave it in return. At the Arlathvhen, she was the most outspoken among the gathered Keepers on her controversial views about relations with the humans. All of this knowledge and wisdom she passed to her fiery First Myriani, instilling upon her the hope of peace between the Dalish and humans.

If it was something she would not even tell her First… Aridhel worried about what she might say.

Despite the thought still troubling her, Aridhel’s words seemed to ease her worries somewhat. A smile graced her features once more and as they walked she began braiding a few strands of her red hair.

The bright red sails of the aravels soon could be seen through the foliage. Elves hurried around the site, preparing weapons, crafts, food, and other materials. An older couple sat by a fire on a log, the older man playing a light tune on a flute for his lover. A few halla roamed near the outskirts of their camp under the watchful eye of their caretaker.

Hahren Neris stood in front of a gathered group of children near the center, arms and face animated as he told them the tale of the fall of the Dales. They sat together in a small circle, enraptured by his every word and gesture, a few giggles rising up at a particularly strange face he would make.

A small smile appeared on Aridhel’s face as he remembered sitting just as they were, listening to the flowing stories and history of their people. Pride expanded in his chest as he followed Myriani up to the Keeper’s hut. After a quick knock by Myriani, the door opened to reveal the Keeper.

Black hair flowed down her shoulders, parts braided close to her head to keep out of her face. Her gray eyes regarded them both before a smile seemed to break the seriousness of her expression. “ _Aneth ara, da’len._ ”

Myriani and Aridhel nodded in greeting. “ _Aneth ara_ , Keeper,” they both said respectively.

Her gaze regarded Myriani before she gave her full attention to Aridhel. He felt a shiver go up his spine when she regarded him with a cold look. “ _Ma serannas,_ Myriani, for bringing Aridhel. I would like to speak with him in private.”

“ _Ma nuvenin_ , Keeper,” Myriani said. She gave Aridhel a passing look before walking off.

Keeper Deshanna took a step back from the doorway and extended her arm to welcome him into the hut. Taking a deep breath through his nose, Aridhel climbed up a small set of wooden stairs before entering. The hut held the fragrant smell of herbs, leaves and flowers scattered across a table near the entrance, a mortar and pestle among them and looking recently used. Crystals and an assortment of objects hung from string from the ceiling, glittering with the faint slant of sunlight that came through the door.

The Keeper closed the door, leaving the hut in a dimmer but visible environment. Aridhel turned to give her his attention.

“There have been… rumors among neighboring clans. Keepers and Firsts having their dreams invaded by a black form. Slowly, the form would take the shape of a wolf, black as night with red eyes piercing through the Fade…”

He could hear the worry and disgust that laced the Keeper’s words. “The Dread Wolf,” he whispered, uttering the word as quietly as possible, barely as loud as wind rushing through the sails of the aravels outside. Saying the word outside of curses and prayers left a bad taste in his mouth, as if speaking the name casually would cause bad luck to befall him. A feeling twisted in his gut.

Keeper Deshanna closed her eyes, visibly steeling herself as she walked over and placed her hand on a table. Aridhel had never seen the Keeper so shaken as she supported herself against the table with one hand while the other gripped the wood of her staff tightly.

“With all of the commotion with the shemlen mages and templars, I thought nothing of ulterior motives. Humans have always fought and torn each other apart, this time seemed no different. But after hearing news from clans about shared invasions in their dreams, I became suspicious. With talk of him invading dreams, you understand why I did not wish to tell Myriani. She is knowledgeable and strong with the Fade but she can be reckless. I worried that she would try to confront him.”

He nodded. It did sound like something she would do.

Swallowing thickly, he somehow found the ability to push words out of his mouth. “Do you truly believe it’s him?” he asked tentatively, brows furrowing. Other than passing tales and prayers, Aridhel had heard little about tricks by the Dread Wolf in current times, let alone dealing with shemlens. It could easily be a demon masquerading as their collective fear, perhaps even as a puppet of the Dread Wolf himself.

Keeper Deshanna thought over his question for a moment, eyes roaming across the herbs on her desk. “The clans reporting such sightings are true Dalish, practitioners of the forgotten ways. They have followed the path as faithfully as we have and sought the appeasement of the Dread Wolf,” she explained, standing straight now and with her gaze fully on him. “I fear that he has turned his gaze to machinations far more dangerous than mere tricks, _da’len_.”

Aridhel exhaled a breath he didn’t realize he was holding as he thought over her words. He had never seen her so unsettled, always observing and leading the clan with a watchful but motherly gaze. If the Dread Wolf truly had plans for the Conclave’s outcome, this would not only affect humans but the elves as well.

He glanced up at the Keeper’s eyes and saw expectation in them. “Keeper, I want nothing more than to protect our clan and the Dalish. Since you have entrusted this knowledge with me, I will go to the Conclave at your behest.”

Her gaze softened. “I did not wish to put such a burden upon your shoulders nor speak my fears openly to anyone in the clan,” she said as she placed her hand on his shoulder, holding onto it tightly. “But I cannot let us stand aside and let the fate of our People be affected by whatever the humans decide. This is a difficult decision and I cannot think of anyone else I would not trust to observe.”

“I will not fail you, _Mythal’enaste_ I will protect us.” Aridhel reached up and held her hand where it lay.

Both of their eyes broke away and moved towards the door of the hut after a knock interrupted the tense atmosphere. “Keeper? The hunters have arrived with food, the meals will be prepared soon,” a voice said through the door, muffled but clear.

 _“Ma serannas_. I will join you in a moment,” the Keeper replied confidently, the worry once lacing her voice now gone. She removed her hand from Aridhel’s shoulder and started to walk to the door. Noticing that he had not moved, she caught his gaze over her shoulder and said, “I will tell the others of your departure. We will speak more on your mission soon. _Dareth shiral_.” With a quick nod, she opened the door and stepped out into the open field, a smile now upon her lips as she greeted the others with her presence.

The tightness in his throat didn’t loosen after she disappeared from sight but his body relaxed from his stilted posture. His shoulders sagged as the weight of her words sunk in. Shaking off the lingering unease within him, he exited the hut as well to face the others.

* * *

 

 

“Do you have to leave?”

It was finally his last day among the clan before embarking across the Waking Sea. The Keeper had set up a human contact to accompany him into Ferelden before he would make his way to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Everything was packed and the clan had finished a small party filled with prayers for his safe departure. Now, he had to merely wait until morning.

Aridhel sighed. “Yes, _da’len_.”

Rowen grew closer, his large eyes gazing with wonder. “Are you hunting with the humans? You're dressed like one.”

That earned a chuckle. “Oh, do I like too much like a flat-ear?”

The boy’s face scrunched up as he thought. “No, just weird,” he answered matter-of-factly.

Aridhel finished lacing the bindings of the armor on his arm and reached over to ruffle Rowen’s hair. The boy quickly ducked his head out of reach.

“Good, I will always be Dalish, as will you.”

Rowen made a face. “I already know that, hahren. Oh!” His face lit up. “Are you hunting the Dread Wolf? If you are, don't worry, I won't tell!”

Aridhel’s hand paused while adjusting his belt. Quickly, he composed himself and shook his head. “No, you've been hearing too many of Hahren Neris’ stories.”

“But he's funny, he makes weird faces when he acts like a shem.”

“True, but you should also pay attention to the tales, not just the weird faces, _da’len_.”

“Okay, okay.” Rowen sighed, swinging his legs and let the heels of his feet hit the log they sat on. Aridhel had finished putting on the human mercenary armor Keeper Deshanna had acquired from a friendly human merchant. It was bulky and fit for a much taller man but it would have to do.

“When will you be back?”

So many questions… the boy really was his sister’s son. “Hopefully a month or two, depends on travel. I'm not leaving forever, I'll be back.”

“ _Mamae_ is mad at you.”

He sighed. He could already see his sister approaching them, hands on her hips and eyes searching him. “When is she not?” he mumbled. As she got within hearing distance, he smiled. “Inislea, _aneth ara_.” Her blue eyes, the namesake of her soul name, regarded him coolly.

Aridhel turned to Rowen. “Why don’t you see if your father needs help, _da’assan_?” Rowen opened his mouth to protest but upon seeing the look his mother gave him, he slipped off the log and walked towards one of the aravels.

Inislea took Rowen’s place on the log beside Aridhel. “You can still refuse, tell the Keeper to send another hunter to spy…” she began, her hand holding onto his arm.

“It’s too late, _lethallan_ ,” he interrupted, shaking his head. “I will be fine.”

“How can you act so calm?” she demanded. “Leaving the clan and entering the societies of the shemlen! So many things could go wrong.”

“I will send word as soon as I can once it is done,” he said, trying to reassure her. She didn’t seem convinced but nodded in agreement anyway.

The vallaslin of Dirthamen shifted across her face, his pattern outlining her cheekbones as she gave a soft smile. “He will miss you,” she said, her eyes wandering to where Rowen and her husband Rajmahel stood by one of the aravels. Rajmahel was in the process of trying to show Rowen how to patch one of the sails of the aravels, helping the boy thread red fabric through a needle. A deep fondness softened his sister’s entire face as she regarded her family. When she turned to look at him, her eyes held only sorrow than anger.

Aridhel placed a hand on her shoulder to try to comfort her. “It won’t be long, you will barely notice I’m gone. Just make sure to keep an eye on him, he can be troublesome.”

Inislea snorted. “He gets that from his father.”

Night had already fallen before Myriani approached him. Wind softly rocked his hammock as he gazed at the stars, hands clasped on top of his abdomen, still thinking over everything the Keeper had told him.

He took a deep breath in, relishing the sea-churned air of the Free Marches. He wondered how much different Ferelden would be: would the forests smell the same, would the sky hold the same birds? He only briefly met clans from Ferelden at the last Arlathvhen: they looked haggard and weary after dealing with not only the humans but also remnants of the Fifth Blight. Their numbers had visibly dwindled.

His clan had stayed to the north during it, fearful that any day the darkspawn would cross the Waking Sea. Thankfully, the Hero of Ferelden, a Dalish elf even, slayed the archdemon before it could reach past Denerim. Despite the influx of refugees and Dalish clans that crossed to try to outrun the Blight, the north had remained relatively peaceful until the explosion of a Chantry in Kirkwall.

He caught Myriani out of the corner of his eye but did not address her.

“Still leaving?” she asked accusingly. When he tilted his head, he saw that she had her arms crossed and a scowl on her face that pinched together the branches of her vallaslin between her eyebrows.

“By sunrise, yes.”

“This is utter madness. Sending one of our best hunters to some shemlen meeting that might end in a bloodbath?” she growled, shaking her head. “What is she thinking?”

Aridhel sighed and got out of his hammock. “She believes it’s important and that we should be aware of whatever decisions the humans make. She thinks I am the most capable of the clan and I agreed to go.”

“And what if something goes wrong? If you are found out they will immediately accuse you of whatever petty hindrance or crime that occurs. Not all humans regard us like she might want them to, we must remember that!”

He could already tell she had said just that to the Keeper the way her eyes fell to the ground as she took in deep breaths, cheeks pink from exertion and shoulders quivering. Never before had she looked so shaken and ashamed, her ears twitching at every little noise around them. Some heads had turned at her outburst though Aridhel doubted any of them could hear what she said. Even so, she seemed to shrink within herself like a wilting flower.

“I have to go, if not me, then someone else. I know you hate it and it may as well end in failure, but the Keeper is keeping the best for the clan at heart.”

He stepped towards her tentatively, afraid she would dash away like a startled animal. He patiently waited until she tilted her head upwards and caught his eyes, a fierceness now glowing within them.

“As the First of Clan Lavellan and future Keeper of the lost lore, I promise you that I will make sure you return to us,” she proclaimed, voice low and firm. She nodded once, then twice in approval of her statement before squaring her shoulders and walking off, presumably to sleep for the night.

Aridhel stood there for a few moments after she left, eyes closed and focused on his breathing. He knew there was a risk in going to spy at the meeting. Tensions were high between the mages and templars and a Dalish elf being found at the holiest of places for the humans would not go well. Only then did the reality of not surviving cross his mind though he immediately push the thought away.

 _It will be alright,_ he told himself, wandering towards the center of the site where a fire was still raging. A few elves sat by it, chatting and laughing, but cast glances of worry and uncertainty at him when he approached. Laying against one of the logs, he let the soft lull of a Dalish lullaby someone was singing nearby allow him to fall asleep.

* * *

 

Darkness engulfed his surroundings. A sharp pain reverberated through his skull, piercing and drowning out all of his senses. He inhaled air through his nose and instantly regretted it, nearly leaning over to wretch at the sulfuric smell that burned his nostrils. He coughed and groaned, his own voice sounding muffled in his ears. The ground below him was sleek and sturdy stone, tangible enough for him to press his body against to ground himself.

After a few gasping breaths, he realized the darkness around him was because his eyes were clenched shut. Gritting his teeth, he squinted to catch a glimpse of his surroundings but regretted the sharp pain that went through his head at doing so. Closing his eyes once more, he allowed his body to collect itself as his mind registered the rest of his body. He ached all over though nowhere more particularly than his head and left hand. They felt like anchors keeping him in reality, flares of pain awakening his mind to his body’s condition. He must have fallen, but where? He tried to remember but could barely piece together any thoughts over the loud drumming of his heart in his ears.

Finally, he dared to open his eyes once more, this time expecting the pain and letting it ease over as he wobbled to climb to his feet. Confusion flooded him as his gaze scanned the strange area he had gotten himself into.

“The Fade?” he croaked, voice sounding more like a wheezing toad than any kind of mortal language. Stones floated through the air, defying gravity and whizzing by above and around him. He saw only clouds of green smog near him and nothing else beyond. Turning to look behind himself, his gaze fell onto a stone staircase leading up to a glowing light.

The light beckoned him with its comforting aura. Its energy invigorated his body, filling him with adrenaline as he began to make his way towards it. He limped up to the staircase and began to climb it, the sheer angle of it making it difficult to merely walk up. As he grew closer, the light began to mold into the shape of a woman, her spectral form resplendent and ethereal. She spoke no words but he could feel how she urged him forward, encouraging him as a mother would for her child.

Her form drew backwards a step. Aridhel looked behind himself and heard the high-pitched chatter of a creature drawing towards him. A group of spiders appeared below and began advancing towards him. His heart clenched in fear before he steeled himself and began to climb faster despite his protesting body.

She reached towards him now. Her brightness nearly blinded him and tears began to well in his eyes, blurring his vision. He began to reach towards her with his hand, right arm trying to lift him closer to reach her. The warmth of her grasp as he finally grabbed her hand erupted a stream of pain through his arm with intense heat, causing a voiceless scream to rip through his body. He felt himself tumble forward through air and electricity tickled across his skin before he hit solid ground.

His Keeper’s parting words rang through his ears before he blacked out, “May the Dread Wolf never hear your steps.”

* * *

 

The doors to the Chantry burst open, light flooding inside. A woman strode forward, back straight and her gloved hand on the hilt of her sword. She held her head high and expression stern as heads swiveled at the sound of moving armor. A few sisters bowed their heads and clasped their hands in front of them, whispering muffled prayers as she passed.

Soon, most eyes moved to the body being dragged by two soldiers behind her. A bright flash of green light burst from the prisoner’s left hand, the same sickly color of the swirling vortex piercing the heavens. The muffled whispers soon became vehement shouts targeted at the woman but she paid them no attention, turning left towards the dungeons.

A guard closed the door behind them, cutting off the screams for revenge and execution. The woman gritted her teeth but her stride did not falter. The dungeons were cold and dark, holding only a few small cells with rusted iron bars. She gestured to one of the cells and the soldiers put the prisoner on a dingy cot on a creaky iron frame. Their eyes lingered on the magic mark in the prisoner’s palm but only momentarily. They cuffed the prisoner to the bed, restraining his limbs down.

“Keep a templar stationed in here at all times in case it does something,” the woman ordered, her gaze narrowed as she looked at the mark. She remembered the flash of green light that tore through the clouds and left an explosion that made her ears ring and her body stagger backwards. Adrenaline fueled her anger and sorrow when she fought the ensuing demons that emerged. No survivors… save for this _elf_. “Also, find an apothecary, we need the prisoner alive for questioning. Maker preserve us so we can find some way to fix this.” Nodding, the two soldiers left, leaving the woman left to breathe in a deep, shaky breath.

A pair of footsteps approached the cells from down the hallway. “Cassandra?” a familiar voice said, clear and lilting like a bird.

“Sister Leliana,” Cassandra replied, turning her gaze to the redhead that approached. Though Leliana’s face held a neutral expression only the best Orlesian bards could portray, her eyes betrayed the horror and sadness she felt.

“Thank the Maker you are alright. It is pure chaos out there, my agents are scrambling to figure out what happened,” Leliana said. A bright flash of green and an ensuing groan both drew their attention to the prisoner. “He is the one who came through the Fade?”

“As far as we know, yes. He bears the mark of that… horrific explosion, doesn’t he? That _killed her_.”

“Seeing as the man is asleep, I suppose we won’t get answers until he awakens,” Leliana mused, stepping up to the bars and staring down at the elven man.

Cassandra’s hand gripped one of the bars. “How can you act so nonchalant about him? He _killed_ Justinia, he bears the very disgusting magic on his hand!” she yelled, hand gesturing to the mark that cast a faint green light against the damp, stone walls. “I say we execute him now, it is obvious he is guilty.”

“Before getting any information as to why?” Leliana asked. Her face gave no reaction to Cassandra’s outburst. “Guilty or not, we must learn what has happened. Whatever that… _Breach_ may be, he seems to hold the only knowledge or evidence of getting rid of it.”

A wave of emotions transitioned over Cassandra’s face as she thought over Leliana’s words. Then, her shoulders slackened and her hand slid down the bar as she loosened her grip. “I… You are right,” she said with a sigh, losing some of her soldier’s posture as the weight of current events seemed to register within her.

The two women stood in silence, listening to the gentle sound of a water droplet hitting the stone floor and the hum and cataclysmic activity of the Breach outside. For a moment they were merely women, not figures or authorities, but women mourning the death of a loved one taken at the cusp of her plans to help Thedas. Murdered at the holiest site of the Chantry…

Their shared reverie was interrupted as a voice echoed down the hallway. “Nightingale?”

“Yes?” Leliana asked, turning to a dwarven woman that approached them. Cassandra guessed that she was probably one of Leliana’s agents.

“An apostate has approached Haven from a neighboring village, he says he has knowledge of the explosion.”

“An apostate?” Cassandra asked angrily, not at all hiding her disapproval.

The dwarven woman gave her a look. “Yes, he relinquished his staff to one of the stationed templars. I think… I think he honestly wants to help.”

Leliana thought over her agent’s words, tapping her finger against one of her crossed arms. “I see. Let me see what this man has to say,” she decided. “Cassandra, gather whatever remaining soldiers or volunteers that are left to deal with the demons.”

“Understood.”

* * *

 

 _Eyes_.

There were so many eyes, too many, peering, _watching_. Aridhel could not sense his body, mind merely gazing through fog and darkness. He couldn't move, whether through the lack of physicality or an unknown force, he wasn't sure. The only clarity that came to him was the eyes.

In some sense he couldn't see them, not truly. Whether it be some manifestation by his mind to make reason of the unknown, he still felt a wash of coldness encompass him like smoke.

Red, unblinking. They probed, danced around over unseen forms or thoughts. Though lacking any other definitive features, he felt the frustration and fury they radiated towards him. They would narrow and then expand, assessing him, looking for something, searching.

Hot pain slashed across his left hand and he folded into himself, clutching his hand tightly to his body. The eyes grew closer, measuring, considering, analyzing the green bands of mana and energy bursting from his hand. It felt like fire eating away at his skin and soul, the pain causing his veins in his arm to feel like acid. After a moment the pain dulled, though throbbed with some foreign power.

Suddenly, his eyes caught something. A thin, green tether wound through the space from his hand, rippling and pulsing with magic. As his eyes drifted upwards, he caught only the faintest form of a hulking beast with red eyes before his consciousness was wrenched away.

* * *

 

It felt like his ears burst. Awareness passed over his consciousness, though physically he made no movement.

Numb… cold. His whole body tingled though all of it felt numb. He could feel only momentarily something heavy and solid holding his limbs down, anchoring him to an unknown surface.

Slowly, the ringing in his ears began to calm and weaken as his senses seemed to begin to return. After a few moments he could hear his surroundings though they held a muffled quality: Rumbling noises, distant but destructive; loud voices, indecipherable but urgent and crisp; water dripping onto hard flooring; his heart, hammering against his chest, trying desperately to escape.

Then, he heard it.

Words. Fast and fluid language spoken in a soft but tense, incandescent tone to his left. At first the words were jumbled, warped and wrong. However, slowly, as he began to regain more of a sense of stability, the language became clear but foreign.

Though, not entirely foreign. He struggled to match his attention to the rapidity of the voice but small phrases lit up in his mind. He could hear it, the rhythm, so often interlaced in his own tongue. It would bounce along his voice, lifting and falling in a way that felt natural and right.

The Dalish laced Elvhen in their sentences, committing the words and phrases to memory. It felt as if evoking the now fractured and mostly forgotten language strengthened them, united them in their pursuit of preserving its rhythm. It brought a sense of belonging where once the feeling might not have existed. To share, to pass on a piece, even if fractured, kept the Dalish motivated to preserve what once was taken.

Despite how the connection of the language being Elvhen soothed the heaviness that began rising through his body, the sentences were strange and eloquent. He had never heard someone speak so fluently.

Suddenly, a loud noise echoed through the room. Footsteps approached and a shadow passed over Aridhel’s eyelids.

“Well?” a woman asked with annoyance.

“The mark’s magic is rejecting him. Whatever its purpose or creator may be, it appears it was not intended for him,” a voice answered calmly. Though spoken in Common, Aridhel could tell it was the voice that had been speaking Elvhen.

“And?”

There was a small sigh. “Since the mark does not wish to exist symbiotically with him, it is slowly devouring him, just as the Breach continues to engulf the heavens and reality. If not for my interference, he would be dead.”

Devouring him? Aridhel focused on the burning in his palm. Though there was a focal point of the pain in his palm, he could feel… _something_ racing through his veins and up his left arm, throbbing and warm. It felt like healing magic would but painful and slowly dissolving his flesh.

As he focused on his hand, he noticed that another hand, cool and solid cradled it. A finger prodded at the mark, which erupted a stream of agony to course through him. A short-lived scream escaped his mouth, spine arching and body spasming. A hand pushed against his shoulder, pushing him down against the bed.

His eyes burst open as another eruption of agony tore through him. His vision was blurry and he could barely make out details but he could see two figures to his left, one leaning over him while the other stood a few paces away. Terror ravaged through Aridhel’s body before seeing the slant and pointed nature of the figure’s ears that peered over him. A wave of relief eased his body somewhat as he allowed himself to be lowered against the surface once more. _An elf, someone from the nearby clan? Am I at a campsite?_

Thinking made his head pound so instead he focused on the two figures.

“Is he awake?” the woman demanded and her voice sounded closer than before.

“Somewhat,” the elf replied. “He is weak but holding on to some sense of consciousness. The mark has stopped growing, for now.”

“We will move him to the holding room for questioning.”

The elf took a few seconds before he replied. “Yes. I will go and write down some of my findings. If you may, I have a theory that could prove possible if the mark—”

“First, we will question him,” the woman interrupted. “Any theories of yours will be done after we figure out what has happened.”

“Yes,” the elf agreed begrudgingly.

Aridhel closed his eyes, heart slowing down as he became accustomed to the dull pain. After a few breaths, he slipped back into darkness.


	2. The One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to chapter 2! I tried to circumvent as much in game dialogue as I could in this chapter, hopefully I did it enough justice to be similar but also different. The next chapter will go into detail about Aridhel so heads up for that.
> 
> Enjoy!

Chaos consumed every visible area around him. Meteoric pieces of stone and debris struck the ground with deafening intensity. Snow melted at the crater and spawned demons and a host of creatures from the depths of the Fade into the waking world. It was almost unending, the haunting hum of the Breach high above and piercing shrieks of demons that lunged and hunted below. Earthquakes made the ground unstable and difficult to stay still and merely take a breath.

Aridhel felt like he was facing the apocalypse. All manner of nightmares reached towards him, grasping with sharp talons and grotesque forms. Their smell choked him as he gasped for breath, bashing a bow he had found at them to create some distance. They were transfixed by the bright light radiating from his hand, allowing the human woman named Cassandra to cut through them. A hollow shriek accompanied their departure before the creatures disintegrated back into the Beyond.

“Creators…” Aridhel gasped, falling to his knees on the frozen lake. Blood dripped from an open cut on his forehead. He wiped some of the blood away from his eye, leaving a bright red streak on the back of his hand. Even then he could see the sickly green of the Breach reflected against the thick ice.

“Get up, we must keep going and reach the valley,” the woman demanded, grabbing at his arm to haul him to his feet. He would have protested at being manhandled but felt that he couldn’t stand up on his own even if he tried.

“What’s the point? The world is ending,” he choked out, swaying but steady on his feet. He glared at her. “You will kill me anyway.”

She frowned. “I said there will be a trial. While I may believe that you might not be the perpetrator, I cannot just set you free. You must prove your innocence to us all by closing the Breach.”

“I’m a Dalish elf, I’m always guilty for something.”

Cassandra opened her mouth to say something, then thought better of it and merely gave him a look. “Come,” she commanded and began walking towards a crumbling path off to the left.

Finding no other choice but to follow her, Aridhel kept his grip tight on the bow and began to limp along with her. His whole body ached and if not for the constant barrage of noise and movement, he would have fainted or collapsed long ago. However, he pushed onwards, eyes often trailing upwards to the hole in the sky.

“We call it the Breach,” she had said after releasing him from within a holding room. He had braced himself for all manner of things but nothing like seeing a true puncture through the Veil. He had stumbled backwards in shock as a cold feeling of dread flowed through him. How could he have caused that? He had no magic and even if he had, he could not imagine an explosion or otherwise being strong enough to cause such a massive fracture between two planes.

What horrified him more so was the mark. It still pulsed and throbbed but remained contained to a slash across his palm. However, a swirling design encompassed his entire palm around it. His flesh was black with the lines as if he had grabbed something hot and its ridges burned at his hand. It was like a brand, letting all of the mourning villagers around them know he was responsible, _somehow_ , for destroying their holiest site. It screamed to them that a Dalish elf murdered the Divine and doomed them all. When Cassandra had led him through the village to reach the valley, a number of humans threw rocks at him, spitting and growling insults and threats. Cassandra shielded him with her body and glare but merely rushed him onwards towards the gates leading outside of the village.

Aridhel clenched his hand into a fist and gritted his teeth. He would close the Breach, if only to prove his innocence and not cause outright war against the Dalish. He feared the repercussions it would cause his own clan, so far away and out of reach. Had the Breach’s destruction reached that far? He hoped not.

They climbed higher into the mountains, growing closer and closer to the Breach. Ripples of heat and energy permeated outwards. Occasional shockwaves made Aridhel and Cassandra pause for fear of being knocked back. She would place a steady hand on his shoulder until the tremors would pass. He appreciated she was at least looking out for him but guessed that she was only doing so to make sure he didn’t shoot an arrow into her back. He mirrored her suspicions right back, careful of when she would swing her sword in battle, making sure to keep a good distance if he was able. He doubted she would feel guilty if her blade met him on accident.

As they ascended a row of stairs, the telltale clash of metal and weaponry caught both of their attentions. It was the first clear sign of life since they had walked out of Haven. Cassandra began to move quicker now, her hand drawing her blade into a ready position.

“Soldiers battling the demons are ahead, we are getting closer to the camp,” she explained as they emerged onto flat ground once more and saw the struggle.

A small, crystalline rift stood in the middle of the fray, its shards jutting out and retracting as demons fought a small band of soldiers. Cassandra was already advancing into the fray before Aridhel could take in the entire scene. Wielding his bow, he took up position near a crumbling pillar and began to fire, piercing any of the creatures he could notice. His hand was beginning to flare up in time with the chaotic pulsations of the rift but he ignored the pain as best he could. Soon, however, the pain made his arm shake and he missed more and more, nearly hitting one of their allies in the process.

He stood up to find a better position but white hot stabs raced up his spine and he was knocked to the ground. A spindly, gangly creature stood over him, limbs twisting and warping around itself as it held him down. Its gaping maw lowered near his face and its horrific scream paralyzed him in terror. The demon knocked his bow out of his grasp and left Aridhel wielding nothing but a flimsy arrow for protection. He tried to strike the demon with the arrow but it broke against the thing’s dark green carapace.

A bolt whizzed through the air and easily punctured the demon due to its speed. The thing lifted its head to reach out at what had injured it only to be met with a sword that pierced through its chest. Cassandra bashed it over the head with her shield as she drew out her blade to hit it once more.

Suddenly, a pair of hands grabbed at the cuff of Aridhel’s armor and hauled him up violently. He tried to fight against his unknown assailant but failed to break free from the grasp on him. The person shoved him towards the rift and grabbed hold of his left wrist, making his hand lift up towards it.

“Quickly, before more come through!” a voice shouted over the cacophony of sound as the terror demon died behind them. A band of energy burst from the mark and towards the rift, making Aridhel nearly black out at the piercing pain. The shards of the rift contracted into itself before imploding and unleashing a magical blast that knocked Aridhel off his feet.

Gasping in breath, Aridhel tried to get up but got only so far as getting on his hands and knees, head drooping between his shoulders. He didn’t know how much more he could take this. Closing that tiny rift made it feel like his body would be ripped apart, how could he close that giant thing in the sky?

Motion at the periphery of his vision drew his gaze and he saw an extended hand. Taking it, he allowed the stranger to help him to his feet. Nausea rolled through Aridhel’s stomach at the sudden movement with vertigo making his vision blur. A hand touched his shoulder and soothing magic flowed through him, easing the discomfort somewhat. He kept his eyes shut, trying to control his breathing and not throw up what little food he had left in his stomach.

“Is the kid alright?” an unfamiliar voice piped up, worry and curiosity lacing the tone.

“He is weak, his body is not accustomed to magic,” a voice, belonging to the one touching his shoulder based on the proximity, replied. “But he has closed the rift, as I had suspected.”

Regaining some of his strength, Aridhel pushed away the figure next to him. He staggered back a few paces, eyes searching around to assess what was happening. The rift was gone and left no lingering mark as to it having ever been there. A few soldiers were wounded and being attended to but it appeared that there were no casualties during the fight with the demons. Aridhel didn’t need any more blood on his hands than he already did.

Three people surrounded him, all looking to him with mixed expressions.

“Really took a beating closing that thing, huh? Good job showing up when you did, I thought we’d be goners with how many of those things it spewed out.” A dwarf rested a monstrous crossbow to his shoulder, grinning with charismatic charm. Aridhel had never seen a dwarf before and was a bit taken aback at the man’s positive attitude despite doom literally looming over their heads.

“I thought I told you to stay in the chantry,” Cassandra growled, her gaze piercing through the dwarf.

If the dwarf was perturbed by the cold look, he didn't show it. “And miss out on drinks in the tavern? You’re lucky I wasn’t in the chantry or I wouldn’t have seen demons spew out of the sky and helped your people,” the dwarf explained, shrugging his shoulders.

“You’re with the Chantry?” Aridhel blurted out, frowning at the dwarf. From what little he gathered about the religion, they didn’t allow non-humans to serve religious roles.

The dwarf laughed rather loudly at Aridhel’s question, causing the elf to feel his ears heat in embarrassment. “Obviously this one hasn’t been away from the clan for very long,” he said. “Nah, kid, I’m a prisoner, just like you. Varric Tethras, at your service.” Aridhel shook Varric’s hand if only to be polite, nodding in greeting.

“I am Solas, if there are to be introductions,” the last person said, only then drawing Aridhel’s attention from Varric.

Aridhel was taken aback for a moment at the elf’s— _Solas’_ —appearance. He was… big. Not in a bulky way like a human was built but tall and broad at the shoulders. Everywhere else he was lithe and slender, his face long and sharp at the cheekbones and jaw. He was certainly the tallest elf Aridhel had ever met or seen. He dressed in the clothes of a wanderer, someone accustomed to traveling alone in the wilderness. He had slipped into the background before his voice drew Aridhel’s attention.

He looked firm, solid,…  _real_.

Of everything that was happening: humans, demons everywhere, the mark, being a prisoner, meeting a dwarf… he was the most tangible and relative thing he had found since waking. It did not matter that _vallaslin_ did not weave across his face at the moment but he was an elf, something familiar, something relative. A fellow elf facing the horrors of this apocalyptic scenario as he was.

Solas’ face was calculating though he held a cursory smile. Aridhel realized he must have been the one that helped him close the rift. “How did you know?” he asked suspiciously, hoping for some kind of answer as to what was going on.

“I have dedicated my studies to the Fade and the wonders and dangers it possesses,” Solas explained, posture straightening as his voice carried a determined and prideful tone. There was a strange inflection and lilt to his voice, an accent Aridhel had never heard before. Common did not flow across his tongue like someone accustomed to the language like Varric. “I volunteered my knowledge and studied the mark upon your hand as you battled death. I theorized the magic bound to you could effect the Breach, and it seems I was correct.”

“Yeah, and your theory almost killed us, Chuckles,” Varric grumbled, looking at where the small rift once floated.

“Do you believe he can close it?” Cassandra demanded, waving her hand at Aridhel then at the Breach.

Solas tilted his head in thought. “Possibly. We shall see shortly, I suppose. If he could close this one, I see no reason why he cannot close the Breach.”

“You do realize closing ‘this one’ almost caused me to black out, how do you expect me to close _that_?” Aridhel pointed angrily at the Breach.

“The mark is unstable, yes, but at the moment it is the only solution. The longer we wait, the larger the Breach expands. It may grow so large and fixed in this plane that even the mark may not be able to close it.” Solas regarded him with a pointed look, his eyes narrowed threateningly. Though his eyes firmly held Aridhel’s gaze, they flickered across the weaving lines of Andruil’s _vallaslin_ on his face. “Seeing as you have come into possession of the mark, you must be the one to fix it.”

Aridhel tried to hold back his anger by breathing deeply but knew it was clear on his face. However, as he thought over all of the options he had, none seemed very promising. He could run, escape away from this mess and hide out somewhere. But he knew Cassandra and others would hunt him down or he would probably die once the Breach swallowed everything. So, if he decided to agree to help, he would either die closing it, which seemed like a growing possibility, or survive and face whatever consequences would befall him, which might result in execution and death as well.

Every outcome did not bode a happy ending for him.

Aridhel’s shoulders slumped in defeat and he exhaled haggardly. “I will close it,” he proclaimed, reaching down to pick up his fallen bow. Out of all of his options, he would rather die ending this threat than leave his clan and others to suffer.

Relief enveloped Cassandra’s face. She turned to Solas. “You will be accompanying us to the Breach, I assume?”

“If I am allowed.”

His response skirted around being disrespectful in a respectful manner, which seemed to cause Cassandra to shake her head in annoyance. “Yes, you are still an apostate, and your knowledge is required if something goes wrong.”

“Well, if we’re all going to the blown up temple, I might as well lend my expertise and see this thing up close myself,” Varric chimed in, already beginning to saunter off in the direction of the Temple.

“Absolutely not! You—” Cassandra began to argue but the dwarf kept walking and waved his hand as if to wave away her angry words. She scoffed in disgust before relenting and walked fast to surpass him as the leader.

Aridhel fell in step behind Varric and Solas followed behind him. He didn’t have to look back to know the elf was watching him. Now, whether he was doing so as a precaution or examining him, Aridhel didn’t know. Either way, it made the hair on his arms stand up. The comfort of a fellow elf began to wear off on him to be replaced with suspicion. An elf or not, Solas wasn’t Dalish, and it wouldn’t bother Aridhel as much if the man didn’t come off so egoistic and above Aridhel. He had experienced enough flat-ears to know the elf would get on his nerves if he kept that up.

“Seeker, have your soldiers found any evidence of a device that may have caused the explosion?” Solas’ voice broke the silence they had been traveling in for some time as they scaled the mountain, only stopping occasionally to battle demons along the way.

“No, we have surveyed the entire area and have found no object that may have caused it. For all we know, it is destroyed along with its creator.”

“I'm not your suspect anymore?” Aridhel asked.

Cassandra gave a short laugh. “I find it difficult to think you created this but that does not mean you may not be an accomplice.”

“I've told you everything I remember: things were chasing me and there was a woman. I grabbed her hand and woke up in that holding cell you had me in with guards pointing swords at me.”

“As I said before, your trial will determine your fate should you survive, I can promise no more,” Cassandra answered grimly.

* * *

 

The smell of burnt flesh and erect, charred victims of the explosion assaulted Aridhel’s senses. He had choked on the air the moment they stepped by the perimeter of the crater. Jagged rocks sloped upwards encircling where the crumbled remains of the Temple was stood. A broken statue of Andraste stood at its center, her severed head floating and blackened. A giant rift floated by her head but did little than vibrate and hum.

The outer rim of the Temple’s ruins had gifted a far worse sight. Statuesque forms kneeled amid stone and debris. Brittle husks of people made of charred flesh and bone, agony etched into their opened mouths, muscles on their faces taut. He had stopped at that point, trying to force away the urge to vomit. The others had waited, understandably uncomfortable with their surroundings. After an urgent command by Cassandra,  they had walked past the figures as quickly as possible.

A smoky vision of Divine Justinia V being held captive by a being with blood red eyes and a jagged silhouette disappeared with a bright flash of light. Aridhel had seen a mirror image of himself interrupt whatever the creature was doing but trying to recall anything else about it made his head pound.

Cassandra turned to him, surprise and anger twisting her features. “You _were_ there! What was that thing?” She grabbed his shoulders and shook him violently. “Tell me!”

“I don't remember!” Aridhel growled back. “Let go of me!”

She shoved him back, causing him to stumble, and drew her sword. She looked at Solas while her sword pointed at Aridhel. “Solas, what did we just see?”

The bare-faced elf seemed unaffected by Cassandra’s actions but his eyebrows were raised. He regarded the rift for a moment, assessing the ripples of energy that made the air vibrate around them. “Echoes of what happened here. Memories and events shape the Fade, retaining and projecting the emotions and thoughts of the people.” Solas looked at Aridhel now and an unknown emotion flickered across his face. “I do not know why the mark has affected his memories. Despite that, I believe the true threat is whatever manner of creature we saw, not this man.” He leveled a stern gaze at Cassandra. “This rift is closed, albeit temporarily. The mark must open it in order for it to be sealed properly. However, opening it will alert those on the other side.”

“Demons,” Cassandra spat. She looked at Aridhel once more, green light glinting off the steel of her sword thrust towards his throat. She searched his face, and though seemingly upset at what she found, she lowered her blade. She raised her voice as she addressed the soldiers. “Take up positions around the Temple! Prepare yourselves!” She gave him one last lingering look before marching off to ready her troops.

Her back turned to him, Aridhel let out a shaky breath, body still rigid at the anticipation of her blade slicing his throat. He rubbed his skin where the blade had hovered, a warning should he fail, deliberately or not.

Solas approached him then, staff in hand. “Are you ready?”

“To close a massive tear in the Fade and eminent death? No, I've been ready my whole life.”

“Jokes will not close the Breach. You must focus all of your attention on the mark,” Solas said. He grabbed Aridhel’s left arm tightly and the mark flared abruptly. “Think of it as a tear in a tapestry that is poorly patched up with loose threads dangling but secure around it. Use the anchor to pull the thread that will loosen the Veil and open the rift. Then, think of it as a wound: you must suture it closed, thread the fabric of the Veil together to close the tear. This should cut the Fade from the Breach and disrupt it.”

“I’ll... try.”

“You _must_.” Solas released his arm and strode over to stand next to Varric near the edge of the area.

Looking up at the rift, Aridhel slowly raised his hand towards it. Like when closing one, a tether connected the mark to the Fade. Thinking along the lines of what Solas had just told him, his hand closed around the immaterial tether and pulled. It exploded outwards, a brief glimpse of the Fade blurred on the other side before a stream of magic shot outwards. A giant Pride Demon materialized, electricity singing through the air. Arrows rained down upon the beast with little impact as it began to charge towards Aridhel and the glow of the mark on his palm, its multiple eyes fixated on the light.

It lunged towards him and Aridhel barely willed his body to dodge in time. The ground quaked where the demon landed and it easily recovered to send whips of electricity in his direction. A shimmering barrier appeared around him and took the brunt of the elemental energy. Soldiers flooded inwards to attack the demon, swords slashing and piercing its armored flesh.

He readied his bow and aimed for the creature’s eyes. One of his arrows managed to pierce through one of them, the demon roaring in anger and pain, clawing at the shaft protruding from its face. Ichor poured from the wound but the demon easily recovered and continued its tirade with increased fervor.

He danced around the battle, keeping his bow trained on the face of the demon while also avoiding its attacks. A current of electricity he failed to sidestep coursed through his entire body. Aridhel’s vision blacked out for a brief second, returning with a bright burst of color and energy.

He stumbled back and lifted his hand to shield his eyes. The mark sung through his arm as it affected the rift above involuntarily. Magic attached to it and after a moment it exploded, warping into a translucent, shimmering curtain. The Pride Demon dropped to its knee, its hold on the material world temporarily weakened.

“Its defenses are down!” Solas shouted somewhere, voice cutting through the cacophony of sound. At his comment, a hail of arrows and attacks assaulted the demon, taking advantage of its weakness.

However, the demon regained its strength, and the rift reverted back to its crystalline state. Staying beyond the demon’s reach, Aridhel tried to stay close enough to the rift to try and affect it again. The Pride Demon had caught on and focused its attention on him. A barrier and elemental waves of fire from Solas barraged the demon, Varric’s bolts punctured its armor, and Cassandra attacked its legs to try and fell it. For the moment, the demon redirected its attention.

Weakly, Aridhel raised his hand back up to the rift, his right hand supporting his left elbow as pain pierced through him again. It traveled up his spine and cut through his entire body. The mark wanted to wrench itself from his body to return to its source. He shuffled closer to the statue of Andraste, trying to retain his consciousness.

The rift burst and the beast fell once more for a longer period of time. The resounding attacks seem to push it to the brink, its attacks become more frantic and angered. It started to lose its material form, losing its grasp in their plane.

Cassandra rose near the demon. It had knocked her back but she took the blow as if it barely pushed her, shrugging her shoulders, her armor clanking and shaking with her movements. She looked through the sea of chaos and caught his eye. “Now!” she screamed at him, pointing at the ever expanding rift above them, close to nearly rupturing on its own at that point.

The agony was immense. He had fell to his knees, head bowed but hand aloft, a brief scream ripping through his throat. His ears popped and rang with a high-pitched ferocity, muffling out everything except the green light of the Breach above and the calls of demons clambering to escape. The Fade called to the mark and it took all of his strength to keep his feet planted on the ground, to not have his body wrenched upwards like the fragments of the defeated demons.

Then, it exploded.

A shockwave hit accompanied with a bright light. White filled his vision and invaded the world around him. At first, he thought he had died. How could he not have? Physically he could not feel the world around him and audibly all he heard was the ringing in his ears. Even his thoughts felt distant, detached.

His hand falling to his side seemed to break him back into the present. He couldn’t feel his hand; the thought would have alarmed him more if not for no longer hearing the crackle and sizzle of the rift above.

 _I did it?_ he thought, a brief smile appearing on his face.

Color and depth began to bleed back in slowly. He regained a sense of himself: he was on his back. A blur and shuffle of motion drew his attention. He wasn’t alone.

“Is he alive?” Cassandra’s voice pierced through the ringing in his ears.

Something waved over his eyes. A hand? Whatever it was, it drew his attention, his eyes following its motion. A burning feeling began to constrain his chest. It felt strange, like his lungs were shriveled up inside of him. He opened his mouth to say something about it only to strangle in an inhale.

The breath seemed to bring everything back into place. Solas crouched at his side, peering at him curiously. Varric looked over the elf’s shoulder, keeping a distance. Cassandra wasn’t within sight though he could hazard a guess she wasn’t far.

Solas glanced up to look at someone past his head. “Alive,” he stated, “but injured.”

The element of injury hadn’t crossed Aridhel’s mind. His body awakened at the thought, suddenly springing to life with the pain that emerged from the recesses of his mind. He convulsed, body tightening, trying to curl into himself.

“Take him to Haven,” Cassandra ordered.

He felt himself be picked up and jostled around. The concept of time faded from him as he entered in and out of consciousness, the pain ebbing and flowing along with it. His body only found peace at the warmth of a hearth grazing his skin and a sturdy surface below him. Only then did he truly give out.


	3. Beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally part of a longer chapter but I felt it would suit it better if I split the two.

Haven had transformed since the Breach had calmed. Refugees flooded the wooden gate with cartloads of heirlooms or trade. Families clustered in wagons road in with children bundled in woolen blankets, shivering against the brisk mountain air. Logs, linens, bars of iron and onyx, and an array of shipment boxes littered the streets and lined the outside of wood houses. People rushed to and fro, some residents, others newly arrived, frantically pulling together supplies in a somewhat orderly fashion. Thousands of tasks needed to be attended to and the paths through the village were often clustered with carts or people trying to reach their destinations.

However, when they saw him, most halted in their duties to stare.

The “Herald of Andraste”, professed from an array of voices and accents, young and old. Scouts and messengers hurried about with ecstatic and hushed voices, awe and disgust mingling among recitations of the Chant. Aridhel couldn't quite tell if the title felt more like an insult or some divine proclamation. Many couldn't decide either.

Most regarded him calmly though he had the feeling they thought they were conversing with a divine being. Their eyes would chance downwards to his hand, looking for the mark that he bore, the supposed mark of Andraste.

Aridhel had to hold back a laugh the first time he heard it; sadly, the absurdity turned to discomfort rather quickly.

It all seemed absurd. Before, the people of Haven had palmed rocks in their hands, ready to strike him when he had been led along by Cassandra through the village after he had first woken. Now some went so far as to supplicate at his feet, firmly of the belief their human prophet had bestowed her divinity upon an elven savage. An odd collection begged for forgiveness for their actions against the elves, telling him their sins against his people. He made sure to avoid them when he walked about the village.

He walked along the shoreline of a frozen lake outside Haven’s walls. A few soldiers were out on the lake, prodding the ice with spears, testing its thickness. A cluster of them sat at the end of a long pier on the other side, surveying the mountains beyond and the sparse woods. Green light flickered across the thick ice, a reflection of the Breach mirroring the one above.

Meteors of rock and Creators know what no longer spewed from the Breach’s center. He had failed, at least in regards to closing the Breach completely. With the absence of impending doom, it looked somewhat beautiful if not otherworldly. To think such a thing may have been created by him…

Impossible. He had no magic, save whatever ancient magic had been branded into his palm. He could remember the talks, the intense discussions and arguments between the Chantry, Mages, and Templars at the Conclave. Everything beyond that was missing, as if a fragment of a memory from long ago he had simply forgotten. How could he not remember getting this mark? The explosion?

Aridhel remembered the woman, cast in a golden glow, spectral and resplendent. She had called to him, grabbed his hand, ushered him to the top. Then they say he tumbled out of the Fade physically, unconscious when he hit the ground, hand marked with the same magic as the Breach roaring above, the golden woman behind him.

If it had truly been the Fade, he didn’t know what to believe. Keeper Deshanna often scolded Myriani about the Fade, telling her she had only her will and her mind to trust. Only spirits and demons roamed the Fade in an endless, chaotic loop, searching for things to mimic or mages to possess. He wondered if that still held for the Fade outside of dreams. Keeper Deshanna would know what to say to ease his mind but she was miles away now, possibly thinking him dead.

Cassandra's initial debriefing to him about the Breach made it sound like rifts and demons had manifested throughout most of Thedas and not just Ferelden. The extent of the refugees flooding Haven seemed to strengthen that theory.

He pushed thoughts of his clan away. He would figure something out soon. He had little in the way of trying to contact them at the moment anyway and even less of an idea of what to tell them: 'Hello Keeper, I am well. It turns out I have ancient magic stuck to my soul by a _shemlen_ prophet and may have caused a Breach into the Fade I have no memory of. How are you?' 

Preparations were already under way for the Inquisition the Seeker Cassandra had invoked. She made the announcement outside of the Chantry, hand clutching a book with a sunburst emblem on the cover. The gathered crowd of villagers and refugees murmured and swelled at her words, uncertain exactly what this newly created organization meant.

Aridhel was just as lost as the rest of them. The best he could gather was that the Inquisition was an organization created once before to gather information and truth. Anything beyond that he had no clue, even when the Seeker had asked him to meet her in the chantry.

The chantry had been dim inside. Bundles of candles burned on copper trays near the stone pillars that gave the only light. Their golden light danced across nearby statues and stonework. Smoke from burning herbs and incense drifted through the main hall, clogging his nose.

Pews were pushed to the side in the alcoves of the chantry to leave room for refugees and other matters. However, the main hall was largely empty at that time save for a sister or two kneeling before a statue, hands clasped as they murmured the Chant. They looked up when he entered but would not meet his gaze, merely bowing their heads and continuing their prayers in softer voices.

These statues were largely intact, some wooden and others stone. They made him think of the crumbling statues of the Creators near their camps, parts missing and moss discoloring them. Most were probably broken by passing _shemlen,_ pieces taken to sit on a lord’s mantle.

The two Hands of the Divine had greeted him in a room at the end of the chantry. The memory of waking up with the two human women towering over him still felt fresh in his mind.

Cassandra spoke first, dark eyes peering at him brazenly. “I… would like to apologize,” she began, a strange look overtaking her face. “You risked your life to close the Breach, even despite my… obvious misgivings about your innocence. The Breach remains and our focus must now turn to acquiring power to seal it completely. Leliana and I believe the Inquisition will accomplish this.” Her eyes darted to Leliana before returning to his. “We would like your help, Aridhel.”

His eyes narrowed. “How do you know my name?”

Leliana shuffled a bit. She had removed her hood and appeared a bit less intimidating. Red hair curved along her jaw and pale eyes searched his face. “We searched into your history for information after we found you.”

Aridhel was growing more and more unnerved at the turn of events. He could deal with being prosecuted, as a Dalish elf he had dealt with it for most of his life. But worshipped? It did not matter that he didn’t believe in their god nor that the woman in the rift behind him might not have been Andraste: they saw what they believed and rejected any doubts he gave.

“What if I refuse? Will you hunt me down and lock me up?” he demanded.

“We have no intentions on keeping you here against your will,” Leliana said. “However, you must know, not all believe you holy and instead either a blasphemous idol or still guilty for the explosion at the Conclave. The mark you bear is a symbol to many of either hope or destruction; the only foreseeable way you can be kept safe is with us.”

“My clan…” Myriani’s face, angered and sorrowful at the news of the Conclave, flashed through his mind. She was going to kill him for sure.

“My agents have requested contact but have heard nothing so far. Little know of your survival outside of Haven as of yet.”

Aridhel inhaled deeply. He wanted to help.

It was strange, staring at the two human women who stared at him expectantly. He had never dreamed that a pair of humans would request his aid and certainly not for saving the world.

They seemed earnest enough, reliable even in their duty to protect Thedas, whether truly a holy endeavor or not. Since waking, he came to understand the reason for Cassandra’s brash attitude from before. She acted with emotion, years of training and tactics giving her a logical view, but driven by emotion nonetheless. Despite that, they were still human and he was a Dalish elf. Already he knew they would keep a close eye on him, attempt to mold him into the savior of their religion, well-intentioned or not.

Cassandra bore an expectant look on her face as he thought it over. “Well, will you help us?” she asked, extending her hand to him.

Aridhel took in a deep breath. “Yes,” he said with a sickening finality, shaking her offered hand. Cassandra smiled at him and nodded though the smile didn’t last longer than a second and the handshake less than that.


	4. Trespasser

By the time he left the chantry, it was mid-day. Sisters gossiped outside its doors in worried tones. When he passed, they shuffled over, eyes downcast almost in shame. They clustered together, lost with no direction and no cleric or mother to guide them.

The creation of the Inquisition had created a renewed swell of energy in Haven as people began to organize materials and locations. Banners and armor were being made at rapid speed bearing the Inquisition symbol. Countless newly outfitted scouts cinched a banner to themselves with a belt, prepared to expand the organization’s influence outside of Haven’s walls. 

He wandered for a time along the outskirts, surveying the land, testing the waters. For a time, re-entering Haven frightened him. He feared the walls of Haven would close in on him, trap him within the human settlement. It was unusual seeing houses so firmly trapped to the earth and immobile. No great hearth marked the middle of the village save for the chantry at its northern border. People worked within houses or tents, few conversing or doing their activities outside with everyone else.

He felt even more like a stranger. While a few elves wandered about, all were bare-faced and eyed him strangely, staring at his tattoos just as much as the humans. None bore  _ vallaslin _ , none spoke the fragmented language of his people, none invoked the names of his gods, and no Keeper offered conversation or communion.

The ground always held a thin layer of snow, cool against the wraps around his feet. The air was unbearably cold all of the time, even within the village’s walls. He shivered against the biting wind, a terrible feeling of longing for the coastline of the Free Marches stirring in his gut.

It was the first time he ever felt truly alone and lost.

Even with the cold, the cool mountain air felt refreshing against his hot skin. He felt claustrophobic in the chantry, the strong smell of incense making his head dizzy. Outside, the air was clear aside from the smell of pine and the wood of the surrounding palisades.

The growing presence of more and more soldiers outside of Haven’s walls began to unnerve him. The men seemed to have taken up residence just outside the main gate, pitching tents and erecting dummies. He had never seen so many types of armor before and watched for a time from the lakeshore at a comfortable distance.

Soon, however, the cold began to seep through his breeches and his toes began to feel numb, and he resigned himself to go back into Haven.

Cassandra had told him about the village’s apothecary Adan. Apparently the man had concocted salves and poultices to treat the mark when he was unconscious. While it no longer flared with the continual pulses of the Breach, she worried about any lasting effects his attempt at closing it might have caused. The mark caused Aridhel mild discomfort either way, a dull sting radiating from it, and using his bare hand caused the pain to flare up.

Music, voices, and a bard’s voice drifted out of a tavern Aridhel passed. The swinging sign above the open door revealed the establishment’s name to be The Singing Maiden. Inside, a large amount of elves and humans drank ale and nurtured any remaining wounds with conversation and alcohol. A bard stood near the fireplace, her soulful tale echoing between the voices of the tavern’s inhabitants.

Aridhel continued onwards and slipped past the tavern in hopes of not being seen. For a brief moment he wanted to be one of the soldiers or servants in the tavern, his left hand free of whatever stolen magic that labeled him different.

Smoke and the smell of herbs billowed out of the chimney of a hut past the tavern. After scaling a small set of stone stairs covered with fresh snow, Aridhel recognized Solas standing outside one of the buildings, probably the elf’s current residence. Aridhel wasn't surprised, this area rested along the curve of the palisades, far from the bustle of activity at the village’s center. It seemed the perfect fit for Solas: far but still close to listen, to observe.

With the mayhem and chaos of the Breach now a distant memory, Aridhel could examine Solas fully. He stood facing the Breach, hands clasped behind his back. He had changed into a simple pair of clothing despite the cold, wearing only a worn tunic, leather breeches, and leather foot wraps. 

Everything about him felt… off. Aridhel didn't know how to describe it. The few apostates he ever saw outside of clans looked haggard and skeletal. Their skittish forms roamed the lost areas of nature, burrowing themselves away from the Chantry and Magekillers in ruins. 

Solas looked nothing like them. His posture exuded nothing but control, gaze all but daring someone to take him to a Circle. This was evident in Cassandra’s demeanor towards him. She didn't know how to quite classify their elven apostate companion as well and how he had never had help to control his abilities, carrying himself like a well-regarded Circle mage.

No matter what Aridhel would have expected all apostates to look like, physically he looked more human than an elf. He  _ was  _ an elf, his ears declared him as such, proudly even without hair to hide them. He carried a light-footed poise in his spells, skirting wards and dancing around enemy fire, always placing his weight on his toes. Yet he stood broad and tall with a lithe aspect to his frame. If he hid his ears, he could easily be mistaken for a human from behind.

Aridhel considered himself healthy: he had fat on his bones, lean muscles, and a standard height for elven men. He, and most of his clan, however, still faced the problems of malnourishment. Solas looked well cared for, even his clothes, though evidence of mending and past damage visible, gave off the impression of self-maintenance.

As if feeling Aridhel’s gaze, Solas turned to acknowledge him. With the front of Solas now visible, Aridhel’s eyes were drawn from the elf’s face to the necklace that stood out against his chest. Leather straps wrapped around the apex of a black jawbone that rested against the middle of his chest. It took only a moment for his eyes to register the familiarity of the bone, the grooves of the sharp canine teeth imbedded in the jaw.

As a hunter, Aridhel had become familiar with the anatomy of common animals that roamed the forests, both predator and prey. He remembered his first hunt, tasked with returning the pelt of an animal to prove his maturity to the clan. Alone in the woods, he scouted for three days and three nights, waiting for the right animal to traverse his area to bring back. He barely slept, taking only short rests in fear of missing a target.

On the third night, a nocturnal predator entered the hunter’s periphery. A wolf, fur black and yellow eyes piercing through the foliage, entered within shooting distance. The wolf was hunting as well, sniffing the forest floor for tracks. Its gait came off leisurely and assured. It prowled through its natural domain, skirting along the border of the campsite. 

In the moonlit forest, pupils shining unnaturally through the night, Aridhel had readied his bow and kept it on the wolf, tracking its slinking form with the tip of his arrow. After a quick prayer to Andruil, the arrow flew. It struck the wolf’s side, rendering it immobile but still alive. The creature huffed and growled in pain and anger when Aridhel had approached it, its red blood seeping onto the leaves underfoot. He drove a dagger through the wolf’s heart to end its pain, twisting the blade after it plunged into its flesh. Despite his people’s warranted wariness of wolves, they knew mercy, something the Dread Wolf seemed to lack. 

He had made quick work in skinning the wolf, his hands and clothing becoming bloodied. By morning he returned to the clan, touting the pelt with pride. Only a few short weeks later he had received his  _ vallaslin _ , Andruil’s arrow forever tattooed into his skin.

Aridhel took a step back, muscles tensing. It was a wolf’s jawbone, there was no mistaking it. It hung from Solas’ neck like a token. A symbol.

A wave of tension developed in his stomach. His throat tightened, cutting off any colorful words or thoughts bubbling to the surface. He clenched his teeth so harshly it felt as if they would break under the pressure.

Solas opened his mouth to say something, obviously having noticed Aridhel’s reaction. Aridhel didn't give him the chance to, instead stalking past him. His steps had faltered only barely but he made no sign that he had changed his course. The hut of the apothecary clogged his senses with the fragrant aroma of elfroot and other herbs. Aridhel focused his attention on the grouchy looking human inside.

He barely registered much of what the human, Adan, said. Aridhel thanked the human for treating him after he was found, retrieved the poultices Cassandra had told the apothecary to make, and walked out. He deliberately went around the back of the building and past the chantry, paying Solas no attention.

Did he wear it to anger him? To visibly see an elf wear a symbol of Fen’Harel so blatantly made his skin crawl. From the little bit of conversation he had had with Solas when they journeyed to the Temple, the man held no good feelings about the Dalish, blatantly calling their traditions false and offensive. It had taken much of Aridhel’s strength to not overtly punch him. Even now he clenched his fist and gritted his teeth.

Aridhel entered the small house he assumed was his for now. He set the medicinal herbs and items on the floor and sat down, leaning his back against the bed frame. He went to work applying the medicine, hissing at the pain it elicited. Some of the herbs used for dulling magic helped more compared to the others. He made a mental note of that.

The mark existed less like a physical wound and instead more complex. It certainly affected him physically but seemingly out of a side effect. He had never wielded magic before, never knowing the feeling of warping the Fade to one’s bidding. He had only felt the soothing caress of its gentle waves of reassurance or the breathless release it brought closing wounds.

This magic hurt. It pierced through him physically and spiritually, an anchor leveraged to the Fade. A single piece of unknown magic sewn into his skin, able to unravel and mend the Veil.

He bandaged his hand in an attempt to let the salves soak into his skin. With the layer of fabric, his palm looked almost normal again aside from a faint emerald glow.

As he pondered the mark’s nature, his mind drifted back to Solas. The most he could discern about the elf was that he was honest about his knowledge. His advice held a deep understanding of the Veil and the Fade, an understanding that most shied from delving into. He certainly carried the attitude to back up his claims, enough to let Cassandra allow him to stay for the time being.

It certainly intrigued Aridhel enough to warrant a few questions. However, the more pressing question was: why?

If before the Conclave he had met Solas, the necklace might not have bothered him as much. However, his Keeper’s words still echoed in his ears, roaring and prompting him to act, to say something. Confusion and apprehension stayed his tongue however, especially when talking to Cassandra and Leliana. They wouldn’t take kindly to his suggestion at the cause of their Divine’s death, especially stating it had a connection with the elves. Saying something now would be disastrous and even he couldn’t say for certain he knew what was happening.

The dark figure at the Temple, its form jagged, and red eyes piercing through the ghostly visage of the Divine, didn’t look like Fen’Harel. Perhaps it was the humans once again, causing trouble for themselves all over again. It wouldn’t surprise him and surely the thought would lend some relief to his Keeper.

For now, Aridhel was content on letting Solas remain a puzzle, a June Knot, seemingly unsolvable and meant only to preoccupy one’s attention with solving it. 

Despite the lingering apprehension that settled uneasily in the pit of his stomach, he decided to give Solas a chance, in some form or another. Outside of a few city elves roaming Haven as scouts and messengers, Solas existed as the only other elf even with his obvious offense at the thought.

Cassandra had certainly made it seem they would all need to work together, the four of them especially. It appeared the best outcome at achieving enough clout to gain attention and support would form in the relationship of acquaintances.

By that logic—sound logic, he would give her that—he helped little in alienating his allies even if they wanted to do so to him.

A basin of water sat near the corner of the room, forgotten after he rushed to get to the chantry after waking. Although dressed in clean clothes, his skin still felt grimy. He doubted he could wash away some of the memories of three days ago.

He pulled the basin over and removed his shirt (the fabric was strange, shiny and smooth against his skin). Gripping the edges of the tub, he plunged his head in. The mountain air had turned the water slightly frigid but he welcomed the shock of its temperature. He massaged away any lingering blood and filth from his dark hair and simply appreciated the small reprieve from the outside world.

Soon, however, he had to breathe. He lifted up his head, droplets and slithering rivers of water dripping from his hair and face. His murky reflection stared back, familiar and tired.  _ Vallaslin _ still wove across his face, the light lines prominent against his tan skin.

He used the foreign shirt to soak up the water from his hair. It didn't take kindly to being soaked and he tossed the thin, soiled thing near the hearth. Thankfully, they had kept the human clothes and armor he had worn to the Conclave and left it in a pile on a table. He made a point to forego both the shoes with the outfit and the ones they had given him. Seeing Solas standing barefoot reminded him of his dislike of shoes: too clunky, too loud, too uncomfortable. 

After braiding his damp hair and stuffing the rest of the salves into a pouch at his hip, Aridhel left the house. The large amount of humans and non-Dalish elves still unnerved him. He walked around the village with a constant feeling of apprehension as eyes followed him wherever he went.

Aridhel found Varric polishing his crossbow by a few tents; Bianca was its name. The dwarf had discarded his leather duster and instead wore a gilded and fancy looking shirt, unbuttoned to show some of his chest, even despite the cold temperature. He looked up when Aridhel approached and gave him a wide, easy smile.

“If it isn’t the Herald,” he said, making Aridhel bristle at the title but Varric said it enough in a mocking tone that he realized the dwarf was being funny. “First, you fall out of Maker knows where, stabilize the Breach, and now start an Inquisition. Most would spread that out over a couple of days.”

“Believe me, I never intended any of this to happen, let alone so rapidly.”

Varric snorted. “Whatever the intention, this is all still pretty fucked up if you ask me. A hole in the sky?” He shook his head, brows furrowed in a frown. “Even _ I _ couldn’t come up with something like that, and I’m a writer!”

“You write?” Aridhel asked in a surprised tone.

Varric’s eyes grew wide. “You’ve never heard of me? Not to boast, but half of Thedas recognizes me wherever I go, for better or for worse.”

“What books do you write?” Aridhel silenced himself from mentioning he had never read a book in his life. He didn’t need the entire world murmuring about how the supposed Herald of Andraste was an illiterate elven savage.

“My big series is a crime and mystery serial,  _ Hard in Hightown _ . I’ve dabbled in a couple other genres. My latest book,  _ Tale of the Champion _ , got our Lady Seeker’s attention. I wouldn’t be anywhere near this mess if she hadn’t kidnapped me to tell the Divine about my story.”

“How did you meet Solas?” The two had looked like an odd pair when they had found them by that rift. 

“Ah, Chuckles was sulking around in the tavern I snuck into. He looked like most of the lot in there, waiting to hear how their lives would change. I had just taught a human a lesson when  _ boom!,  _ an explosion. Half the people scrambled out in terror. Chuckles approached me for directions to Haven, I walked with him there, and he pledged himself to study your mark. After some ‘tests’, he wanted to try something with one of the rifts, nearly killing us if you hadn't showed.

“But enough about me,” Varric stood, hooking Bianca to his back as he spoke, “How are ya holdin’ up, kid?”

The tension knotted in Aridhel’s muscles loosened a bit. “Overwhelmed,” he sighed.

Varric patted his arm in a friendly gesture. “I have a friend who’s Dalish, left her clan to live in the Alienage in Kirkwall. I can imagine this is ten times worse than what she had to go through.” The dwarf squinted at his face. “You’re from the Free Marches, aren’t you?”

“I am. Clan Lavellan.”

“Met Daisy’s clan a few times in passing, odd bunch you elves are, no offense,” Varric laughed. “I’m from Kirkwall myself. Haven’t heard of your clan though. If you need any help, have an itch to gamble, or want to talk, I’m your dwarf. Be aware, though, I’m inclined to extravagant lies.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You know, with all the ‘Herald of Andraste’ talk going around, you never told me your name. Understandable, believe me.”

“Aridhel,” he answered, his name sounding so foreign out in the air. He’d used a different name with the journeyman that brought him to Ferelden.

Varric stroked the stubble on his chin in thought, tilting his head this way and that for emphasis. “Not sure what nickname to give ya, but I’ll think of something in the coming days. However, word of advice?” His mouth smiled but a seriousness shone in his eyes. “I’ve lived through enough to know where this is going, and it won’t be pretty. I suggest leaving the first opportunity you get.”

Aridhel nodded at the words but knew they ultimately meant nothing. “Even if I leave I’m sure the Inquisition will come find me,” he answered honestly.

Varric chuckled and nodded. “She’s not a Seeker of Truth just for the fancy uniforms and powers. I just want you to be careful, you seem like a good guy. Maybe it’s just the cynicism of my age and my history that’s getting to me. I’ll leave you be, with the amount of important looking people showing up over the past few days, I bet she has something big planned for you.” With a wave, Varric went back to polishing Bianca while whistling a soft tune.

 

* * *

 

The soft trickle of water in the distance caught his attention.

As Aridhel opened his eyes, he staggered backwards in alarm, the brightness temporarily blinding him. 

His eyes adjusted, taking in the forms and lights surrounding him. His bare feet touched cool stone patterned with tiny mosaics swirling with colorful, vegetal patterns. Looming columns made of crystal encircled him like prismatic trees, tall and broad along their shafts, the light that pierced through them emitting thousands of rainbows scattering across the floor. 

Gold, silver, and pearlescent transparency detailed the columns and surrounding architecture. Flowing patterns of magical glyphs ran along arches and walls like veins, pulsing with light as energy pumped through them. Ivy bearing all manner of shades of green and other colors adorned the walls as if grown strategically as decoration, the leaves fluttering with a breeze he couldn’t feel.

The sun shone brightly overhead and the sky had adopted an eerie, turquoise hue.

Aridhel tried to take in his surroundings but the scene shifted slightly as if close to collapsing. Little of it seemed solid save for the ground below him and the glass ceiling above. He staggered a bit, a wave of nausea piercing through him from vertigo.

An elven woman approached. She appeared from nothing it seemed, perfectly blended in with the surrounding aesthetics. The soft glide of her bare feet along the tiles made little noise aside from the soft shuffle of fabric at her legs. Her shift flowed from her figure in shimmering, opalescent waves of shifting hues and light. Gold and gemstones secured the shift to her body lest the fabric merely glide off her and pool to the floor. Silver clasps connected the neckline to a broad, extravagant necklace that covered her entire neck. Fabric pillowed around her arms, translucent upon her tan skin.

Elsewhere, her skin shimmered as if imbedded with millions of bits of gem dust that glistened in the light, giving her an ethereal glow. Her dark hair was braided in wide plaits and swept back, her long ears prominently displayed with two large disks dangling from her ear lobes.

She stopped and stood but a gentle breeze still flowed through her skirts, rippling them around her legs. A modest smile graced her plum-colored lips but her features betrayed little emotion. Her eyes regarded his face with interest, sliding along and about his clothing. He wore simple attire with a worn tunic and dark leggings, plain and austere compared to the sheer drapery hanging from her body.

When she spoke, it was low in tone and smooth, the words gliding off her tongue like water over a smooth rock. Bits of the language piqued his interest—Elvhen words, though the dialect made it nearly unrecognizable—but he could understand the rhythm somewhat. She seemed to ask him a question, if her tone and the idle clasp of her hands in expectation hinted as much.

Aridhel opened his mouth to say something, to force out what little of phrases and words he knew, but her attention drew elsewhere to the side. Her skirts swirled around her once more as she moved toward the soft shuffle of approaching footsteps. A figure, dark compared to the prismatic colors and shining gemstones surrounding it, could be seen in the distance near a curving archway. The sight of the silhouette sent a shock of cold piercing down Aridhel’s spine, freezing him in place.

He wanted to say something, tell the woman to stop, to voice the apprehension that had taken root since the figure’s arrival. Yet, he stood, unable to move, unable to speak...

_ “Trespasser _ .” 

A voice, unknown and indistinct, whispered it. He glanced around but found no one else to have spoken it aloud. Little more than a gentle hum and soft stirring from a breeze echoed through the chamber. Yet, the word had not sounded as if spoken, but as if a feeling, an energy, an emotion. It sent tendrils of energy racing along his skin.

He couldn’t tell if the word was meant for him or the dark figure.

As the elven woman’s form rounded a column, one hand placed on its drum, the world suddenly tilted and the colors melted together. 

He lurched forward, hands extended to catch himself.

He collided with the floor of the cabin, body still tangled in the wool blankets. The solidity of the floor jostled him from the dream, even more so with the pain in his chin after it struck the ground.

The faint memory he had of the dream began to fade but the voice still rung in his ears.

Aridhel found that sleep did not return to him for the rest of the night.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave any comments or kudos if you would like! Constructive criticism is welcome!


End file.
